


Hunted

by DictionaryWrites



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Belly Kink, Bondage, Come Inflation, Dirty Talk, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Gags, M/M, Power Dynamics, Pregnancy Kink, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, Stomach Bulge, The Hunt (The Magnus Archives) - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:27:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21996826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: “Gotcha,” growled Harry Rogers in his ears, and Jon couldn’t help the strangled yell that shot from his throat as the entity pinned him down. He was a beast of a man (not man, not man), hairy all over and with teeth that were just a tad too sharp, and Jon braced himself for his clawed hands to dig into Jon’s flesh, his shoulders, his throat—They dragged sharp through his clothes instead, tearing the fabric from the back of his neck down toward his trousers, ripping them too, and Jon hissed at the sudden cold air on his skin, the way Rogers shoved him face down on the ground. None of this had been in the statements, not this – Rogers had been hunting people, but he’d only chased them, there were only rumours that he’d kill someone, he hadn’t actually, he enjoyed the chase.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan Sims, Jonathan Sims/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 112
Collections: Rusty Kink





	Hunted

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Kink Meme Prompt](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/545359) by Anonymous. 

Jon had never been athletic.

Even as a child, he had been one of the boys to carefully and desperately avoid P.E., to skive off and smoke a fag out behind the astroturf where none of the teachers would bother to go looking, or pray for the days where they could split off into their own groups, and he and one of the other skinny, disinterested boys could play an uncoordinated game of badminton.

And now?

Now, he was even _less_ athletic than he’d been as a boy. Oh, he had stamina, that was certain, he could go for a longer than he ought have been able to without stopping to eat, to drink, but he still couldn’t go nearly fast enough, certainly not fast enough as he rushed through these _fucking_ woods.

The leaves under his feet were wet and mulchy as he ran over them in faded, abused trainers, hopping over roots as fast as he could and trying to keep to going downhill rather than uphill, although it was hard with how uneven it was now that he was off the path, with all these troughs and little upticks, and it was so hard to keep a steady pace…

And it was getting closer.

The entity that called itself Harry Rogers, the entity that Jon had been chasing up a statement for, and that was now hunting him through the woods—

If he could just make it good, he’d be alright. Daisy had said that, before, had said that so many of them wanted to draw the hunt out, for the hunt to never end, so if he could just make it good enough—

“Gotcha,” growled Harry Rogers in his ears, and Jon couldn’t help the strangled yell that shot from his throat as the entity pinned him down. He was a beast of a man (not man, _not_ man), hairy all over and with teeth that were just a tad too sharp, and Jon braced himself for his clawed hands to dig into Jon’s flesh, his shoulders, his throat—

They dragged sharp through his clothes instead, tearing the fabric from the back of his neck down toward his trousers, ripping them too, and Jon hissed at the sudden cold air on his skin, the way Rogers shoved him face down on the ground. None of this had been in the statements, not this – Rogers had been hunting people, but he’d only _chased_ them, there were only rumours that he’d kill someone, he hadn’t _actually_, he enjoyed the _chase_.

“_The Archivist_,” Rogers growled in his ear, laughing as he said it, and his clawed hands dug into Jon’s hips, drawing blood and making Jon shout, struggle.

“Let me go,” he retorted, forcing as much compulsion as he could into the words, and the entity shivered, then shoved a handkerchief – _Jon’s_ handkerchief – into his mouth.

“Quiet, quiet, Archivist,” Rogers purred, even as he tied Jon’s flailing hands behind his back with something that dug right into his wrists, making him hiss and gasp in pain. “This will all be over so, _so_ soon… I’ve been waiting for you. You took one of ours!”

The tongue slid down Jon’s spine, and Jon screamed around the gag, trying to kick as the tongue came lower, sliding against his—

“_Nnnnfff!_”

It didn’t feel right. No human tongue should have been that long and wide, that dexterous, and no human teeth should have nipped so sharp at his buttocks as the tongue slid forward, pressing on the ring of muscle between them. It was hot and supremely wet, so wet Jon shuddered, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks.

“_L’t mmm— **G**—”_

“I’m not going to let you go, Archivist,” Rogers said, then thrust his tongue inside Jon’s arse in one slick movement, pressing hard into him and making Jon keen. “I’m going to fuck you.”

It became…

A blur.

His clothes were ripped from him, down to the last stitch, and he was left naked except for his boots and the cloth around his wrists, shoved with his face in the leaves as Rogers licked him, nipped at his flesh. He said things, but Jon didn’t really take them in – he knew that Elias was watching, that he had to be watching, and no doubt he would repeat the words, later, he would tell Jon what Rogers said—

“So _thin_,” Rogers said lowly, and fingers were inside him, now, rough fingers with fewer knuckles than they should have had, and rough, hard flesh made for running on rough, hard ground. Jon knew he was making whimpering, pathetic noises around the gag but couldn’t stop himself, and his mouth felt too dry and too full.

He should have felt more violated than he did, he supposed. More violated, more… traumatised. He didn’t feel traumatised.

Angry, overwhelmed, wanting to get free, but rape by a wolfman just didn’t cut it on his level of terror anymore, it seemed.

_Careful, Archivist_, came Elias’ voice, ringing off the insides of his skull and making him wince. _You should know better than to tempt fate like that_.

Rogers’ cock was inhumanly big, and Jon screamed around the gag as Rogers’ arm curled around his chest, dropping Jon heavily down onto it in one swift movement, and once upon a time, this would have killed him, would have split him open as easily as a too-wide spike, would have ripped him open and left his guts on the ground.

Times changed, of course.

It made his belly bulge unnaturally, sliding into him more smoothly than it ought, more easily, and he groaned at the feeling of it, cramming him so full he felt like he would burst at any moment. He could see the round, heavy rod of the cock inside him as it thrust, feel it shoving against the inside of his gut and all but hammering his prostate in the first place.

It was…

Pleasurable, in its way.

The pleasure was white hot lightning that sizzled and burned within him, too powerful and too much all at once, making his cock hurt more than feel good, and he wasn’t a fan of sex at the best of times, not the physical _act_. Rogers’ hips snapped up against his hard and fast, and Jon groaned at the way his cock was jolted against his belly, the head dripping wet, the head sliding against his bulging skin.

_Fun, isn’t it?_

Rogers shoved up deeper inside him, and Jon choked out a whimper as he growled, “You’re tight. Delicious little morsel that you are, Archivist, such a tight sheath for my cock… It’s a waste, expecting you to watch, when you’re so _good_ to play with.”

Jon groaned at how wide he was stretched, at the strange shudder and jump of Rogers’ cock inside him, and Rogers keened in the very back of his throat.

“I’m not going to last, Archivist,” Rogers hissed, nipping at his ear, his fingernails digging into the flesh of Jon’s hips, making him moan around the gag. “I’m going to fill you with my cum, have you bear my pups.”

That wasn’t possible, Jon knew it wasn’t, and even as he thought it, Elias’ voice came, _Are you so sure?_

Rogers’ cock was already pulsing, and Jon grit his teeth at the wet flush of it inside him, rushing hot and wet and too much, too much, as though he’d turned on a tap. It just kept pumping, and in a distant, clinical way, Jon wondered where it was all stored, or if Rogers really was _producing_ that much semen – even the Hunt was subject to some rules and laws of nature, even—

“Ungh,” Jon whimpered when a particularly vicious thrust made the cum slosh inside him, rocking against his stretched belly, and more, and more, and _more_—

It filled him to the brim, and then over. He could feel it, wet and slippery and just a little heavier than water, crammed into him and making the skin not just bulge, but _balloon_, pressure heavy on the skin as more flooded into him. He could feel the pulse of Rogers’ cock, ridiculously fat and heavy, and he could feel the liquid shift, his belly swollen with it—

“See?” Rogers asked, laughing. “You’re pregnant already.”

Jon stared down at his swollen belly, the skin as taut as the skin on a drum, listening to the liquid ebb and flow crammed within it. It was so heavy he could barely stand it, fat and laying on top of his cock and his thighs, rounded out—

“There,” Rogers grunted, and shoved Jon forward again: now he did scream, his belly almost brushing the floor it was so ridiculously swollen and heavy, and barely a little of Rogers’ cum was able to dribble out of him before Rogers shoved a plug inside him, and then pulled Jon to his feet by the hair.

Jon’s knees were unsteady, his hands still tied behind his back, his mouth full, his belly making his balance difficult to keep hold of. He heaved in a whimpering breath, shivering, and Rogers’ hands slid around his belly, pressing on the tight skin and making him groan, making the pressure inside him—

“Oh, you didn’t cum, Archivist,” Rogers cooed, and squeezed Jon’s belly with both hands, now, then rocked it in his hands. Jon cried out, knees going weak at the slosh and rush of the liquid within him, the desperate _ache_ of it, the weight of it, felt his cock give a twinge.

_I’ll take care of that_, Elias purred in his mind as Rogers’ hand clapped down against his arse, making his whole body jolt, _just walk north. I’ll be around to pick you up_.

“Bastard,” Jon muttered as Rogers pulled the gag from his mouth, and Rogers laughed.

“No hard feelings, Archivist,” Rogers said. “You let yourself be caught, after all.”

Jon shifted his jaw, his gaze landing on Rogers.

_Oh, I see_. _Going to take a meal, first? Forgive me for saying so, Jonathan, but you look gorged enough already_.

“Sit down,” Jon growled, and Rogers dropped like a stone on the floor, staring up at him with his eyes wide.

_Very well. But don’t take too long. I want to touch that stomach of yours myself – I want to know what it **feels** like._

“Statement of Harry Rogers,” Jon said as the tape recorder flicked on, aware of the picture he made, soaked with sweat, swollen and full, not shivering in the cold of the woods. “Regarding the series of events leading to his becoming an avatar of the Hunt in the year 2013. Statement begins.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to hit up [my ask on Tumblr.](http://patricianandclerk.tumblr.com/ask) Requests open.
> 
> I have a Magnus Archives discord! [Join here!](https://discord.gg/c9aZWDz)


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